


Love me Back

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Frotting, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Lovebites, M/M, Mild Smut, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Feels, Unresolved Sexual Tension, mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:44:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is proving hard to soften and Steve is desperate for him to love him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love me Back

_Just love me back._

_Give me LOVE._

Steve felt like screaming the words at the top of his lungs. The ache and longing never subsided. The brisk draught coming through the window on one side of the bunker seemed to intensify it, burrowing right into the Captain’s gut like a parasite, filling the gap that Bucky’s indifference was leaving him with to the brim with frost.

Steve sat down on the edge of his small single bed on his side of the small concrete room and watched as Bucky packed away his kit. The movements were methodical, learnt over and over to the peak of routine and efficiency. The whole process showed the stark contrast between Bucky’s side of the bunker and Steve’s. The military organisation on the left was juxtaposed with comfortable disorder on the right; notebooks, coloured pencils, maps strewn across the bedside table and boots and jackets tossed over the metal headboard. Steve worked best that way; no pressure.

The mission they were on was a small one, three days of work maximum. They were in Poland, in a small concrete bunker tossed like a discarded cardboard box somewhere in an area called the White Forest. Steve thought there was nothing white about it, more grey and washed green from trees that looked like they had been abused by the recent military activity in the area. Fury had seen Bucky fit for combat and had asked Steve to take him along on a mission he really could have dealt with himself. The Captain had protested wholeheartedly, having the view that the last place Bucky should be was in a military bunker in a country he only knew of as one of the many places he had been tortured. His complaints had fallen on deaf, selfish ears.

Bucky was becoming increasingly difficult to work with. This was not out of any irritation or animosity, but out of the fact that Steve was housed with a constant reminder of a man who, many years ago used to love him very much. This new version of Bucky seemed to feel very little at all besides occasional rage or anxiety. The relationship was harmonious, but cold and quiet.

“You’re sure you up for tomorrow?” Steve asked, tossing a small packaged cake onto Bucky’s lap so he could watch the soldier stare at it for a while without eating it.

The usual routine. He would eat it when Steve was not looking and put the wrapper on his nightstand so that Steve could see that he had. The understanding between them worked.

“Yes, m’ready,” Bucky mumbled, turning the cake over in his hands over and over, the metal knuckles of his left one catching the half-light coming in blue and crystalline through the window.

Steve sighed quietly and nodded, standing to turn off the light. He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder gently, adding another hand on the other side when he realised that when he squeezed Bucky’s left shoulder, he wouldn’t feel it.

“Night, Buck,” Steve whispered climbing into his own bed and turning his back to the soldier and waiting for the sound of the cake wrapper crinkling.

Instead, there was silence. A good fifteen minutes passed before he felt the uneven pressure of two hands, metal and flesh, pulling his covers up over his shoulders and tucking him in. Steve smiled into the pillow, unmoving.

“Night, Steve,” Bucky whispered.

 

­……

 

Steve opened his eyes cautiously, squinting his eyes against the harsh white light splitting the room down the middle. Dust moats swirled like spectres between the two soldiers’ beds, too bright from the morning sun reflecting off of the thick blanket of snow that had fallen overnight.

“Buck,” Steve mumbled, rolling onto his front and clutching the pillow against his face to smother a yawn.

“Bucky, what time is it?”  


“Shh!”

 

Steve’s head snapped up. Bucky had pushed the bedside table between their two cots in front of the window and was now crouched on top of it. He had one of the rifles from under his bed propped against the window ledge, a long distance sniper. His eye was glued to the sight, furrowing and shadowing the side of his face in deep and infallible concentration.

Steve jumped up, flipping the shield onto his arm and scanning the room instinctively. His heart rate picked up instantly, feeding off of the tension that was rippling off of Bucky in frigid waves.

“Bucky, tell me what’s going on.”

Nothing. Not a single shift in focus. Steve changed his approach.

“Sergeant. Mission update, please.”

Bucky flinched a little, his eyes darting back to Steve for a second. The Captain ignored the ripple of guilt that curled in his stomach at his own manipulation. He hated using Bucky’s instant submissiveness at the hands of authority to get a reaction from him. Sometimes, the temporary break that it offered from the stony stubbornness that the soldier exhibited was worth the guilt.

“I heard movement,” Bucky muttered slowly, moving away from the rifle and sitting defeated on the nightstand.

Steve knew that face. Bucky’s anxiety had overridden his precision. He had found nothing; the relentless scanning of the dense forest had uncovered nothing or no one.

“Steve, I heard movement,” Bucky’s voice climbed tensely, “I swear I heard…”  


He stood up sharply and threw the rifle onto his bed, raking his hands over his eyes. Steve sighed and put the shield down.

“Don’t worry, Buck,” Steve reached out and squeezed Bucky’s arm tentatively.

Bucky froze, looking at Steve’s hand with a cautious look of reserve. Steve took the risk, leaving his hand in its place, waiting for his cue to move or stay from Bucky.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mumbled, looking at the floor between them.

The space separating the pair was small, their toes almost touched and Steve’s hip was pressed against Bucky’s side. It felt like electricity, the tiny point of contact somehow tingled with sensitivity that threw Bucky into hyperaware self-consciousness. It felt good.

_You’re not allowed to feel good. Pleasure poses no function._

Bucky swallowed the negative mantra.

“Why are you sorry?” Steve chuckled, ghosting his hand down the line of Bucky’s spine, settling his hand at the small of his back and applying just enough pressure to coax him forward without panicking him.

Bucky’s throat dried as the electricity intensified. He stepped into the one-armed embrace, steadying his breathing as Steve’s warmth crept through his side like a virus. It took over every cell and heated him to the core, and the surrounding frost seemed less violent.

“I flinched, I always flinch,” Bucky frowned, shielding his eyes behind long, dark lashes, “You probably think I hate you or something but I…”

Steve shook his head briskly, pulling Bucky closer, until their chests bumped softly. Steve was overwhelmed, but in the best possible way. He could smell that familiar, clean heat that just smelled like Bucky, he could hear the soldier’s breath coming in soft, fast puffs. He was absorbed by a closeness that he had been battling with for months.

“I never thought that you hated me Buck,” Steve whispered, smiling as his lips barely grazed Bucky’s neck, making the brunet shiver and press closer.

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”  


Bucky sighed and nodded, closing his eyes. Steve pressed his lips against Bucky’s neck again, testing his limits bravely. Bucky’s breath hitched sharply and he pushed forward, bumping his forehead clumsily against Steve’s cheek and winding his metal fingers through his waistband. He tilted his head and watched as Steve backed off to accommodate him.

“No, no I wasn’t moving away, Steve,” Bucky breathed in amusement, “Kiss me.”

The Captain smiled and nodded, moving his mouth from Bucky’s neck to his lips, closing them around his gently and cupping his face in one strong hand. When he focused, he could hear Bucky’s heartbeat. His hearing was nowhere near the level of Bucky’s; Bucky could focus in on the tiniest phonic detail in a room of voices, but Steve’s was still enhanced. It was fast, but his breathing was steady around it, deep, slow and heated. Bucky’s hands were in Steve’s hair, anchoring the kiss. He didn’t want this to end and part of him did not trust Steve not to end it.

Why would he? Bucky cursed himself internally for every time he had shifted from Steve’s touch, or averted his gaze when he smiled at him. He regretted every night that he had stifled his urge to just cross the hall between he and Steve’s bedrooms and hold him like he wanted to. Like he needed to, desperately.

“Don’t stop, Steve,” Bucky moaned hoarsely, his lips grazing the Captain’s teeth, “Please don’t stop.”

“Never,” Steve whispered, pushing Bucky back until they hit the wall.

“Not until you stop me.”

The bunker had melted away, and Steve was all Bucky could feel. No pain, no bruises, no fear; just exquisite pleasure. His skin burned with red head that he thought he had lost forever. It prickled up his arms, making the metal one whir audibly as the vibranium plates shifted over each other and responded to his heart rate. The warmth, Steve’s warmth, crept through his cells replacing the frost that clung there.

Steve pressed his fingertips under the hem of Bucky’s shirt, letting them ghost over the warm skin. He smiled at the sprinkling of goose bumps that grew over his skin in response. He made the plunge, lifting the shirt over his head completely, feeling a small bubble of relief rise in his throat when Bucky lifted his arms, completely compliant and willing.

Steve sat down on the bed, patting his lap as an invitation for Bucky to sit. Bucky came forward slowly, straddling Steve’s hips with his knees either side. The Captain wasted no time, working over Bucky’s bare chest with parted lips until the pale planes of muscle were speckled with pink bruises. A rough, needy moan left Bucky. Steve’s cock throbbed in his jeans at the desperate noise.

“ _Jesus_ , Bucky,” Steve sighed against his stomach, “Jesus, you’re perfect.”  


Bucky coughed a weak laugh, curling his fingers through Steve’s hair as the Captain rubbed his palm solidly over his crotch, making his vision blur at the edges as the pleasure his head. An unfamiliar heat pooled in the base of his stomach like molten metal.

“Steve…Steve _oh.”_

Steve grinned against Bucky’s chest and squeezed the obvious bulge in the soldier’s combats. Bucky’s head fell back and his grip on Steve’s shoulders tightened almost uncomfortably. Steve persisted, rubbing faster and harder, closing his eyes and moaning quietly at the feeling of Bucky pressing his hips into his hand. Bucky was seeking pleasure from him and he was actually able to deliver. Steve swelled with pride every time Bucky’s voice climbed with pure need for his touch. _His touch_. Just his.

“Steve, stop…” Bucky muttered breathlessly, eyes closed with his lips against Steve’s neck.

“Steve…Stevie _oh, oh, oh!”_

Steve pulled away his touched and stifled his laughter as Bucky’s hand clenched into fists in his hair and a moan of pleasure and surprise left the soldier as he toppled headlong into climax.

“You didn’t see that one coming, did you baby?” Steve chuckled breathlessly against Bucky’s neck.

“Mmm,” Bucky sighed, his eyes hazing comfortably as his body relaxed totally.

This was what ‘content’ felt like. He loved it.

 


End file.
